tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7488175797024104362024-03-12T22:01:38.483-07:00Between Memoir and Fiction Lies a ShnickieNicole Rae Lipperthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750131568922559115noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-748817579702410436.post-31208011823810843172011-10-01T07:40:00.001-07:002012-02-02T12:52:43.132-08:00Dribble in my head<div class="MsoNormal">You belong to a place inside my head</div><div class="MsoNormal">Where love is dead</div><div class="MsoNormal">And only a carcass now lives</div><div class="MsoNormal">Of something once beautiful</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Dig it up, love</div><div class="MsoNormal">Check the rotting flesh</div><div class="MsoNormal">For fresh sutures </div><div class="MsoNormal">Maybe there’s life still in those weary bones</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Run your hands along the spine </div><div class="MsoNormal">Of a broken back</div><div class="MsoNormal">Missing vertebras </div><div class="MsoNormal">Is where our future now lies</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Every time you fuck me</div><div class="MsoNormal">I hope you ask yourself</div><div class="MsoNormal">How it feels to fuck the dead</div>Nicole Rae Lipperthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750131568922559115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-748817579702410436.post-25950914139939632372011-09-30T21:36:00.000-07:002013-10-27T17:02:55.182-07:00Never Not Broken<div>
"Every act of love should be cause for joy in </div>
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every person who is aware of it.</div>
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To be angered by the fact of love</div>
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is to be afraid of life. "</div>
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-Das Energi</div>
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I think I originally intended this to be a "writing" blog (the word "writing" implying I was doing it artistically in some fashion). However, I think after quite sometime in hibernation, it is now just going to be a "me" blog. <br />
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This will hopefully be the first post in a string of posts. I have some recipes I'd like to post (as I have recently realized that I'm exceptionally good at gourmet, vegan, junk-food. I mean seriously, you haven't had a quesadilla until you've had one of my vegan quesadillas). It will be random thoughts that I want to put out into the world (like bellow). There may be some "writing", and with any luck there will be other artistic endeavors. Either way, this is my little "outside of grad school contribution to the world". If you enjoy my dribble, fantastic! If you don't, no hard feelings. <br />
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I've been thinking a lot on the subject of heart break. Mostly, because I am currently heart broken. I wasn't actually aware that I could cry as much as I have recently. It's not just the crying, though. It's the pain. It's the type of pain that convinces me that, even if it ends, I might not be a whole person once it's gone. It's so much pain that I am confused as to who I am at all these days. It's shattering pain.</div>
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All of my friends have been telling me that "he's not worth it." They tell me how wonderful I am, and how lousy he is. Which is funny, because I think it's the very same friends that were telling me that he's worth fighting for when I was talking about giving up before we broke up. They tell me that I'm better than "this". Stronger than "this". Stronger than him. Because that's what friends are for. To tell you you're awesome when you feel like shit. But really, that kind of talk just made me feel ashamed and weak. </div>
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Putting value on him or our relationship is a futile process anyway. If he is not worth it, if our relationship is not worth it, am I worth it? I could rationalize and come up with reasons about why I am so much better and stronger, but at the end of the day, lying in bed alone, all of that pompousness and pretension falls apart. If I am going to think like that I might as well hand the keys of my mind over to disappointment and bitterness. Thinking like that is a road to nowhere good.</div>
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What I failed to realize in my struggle to be "better" and "stronger," is that the real strength isn't in not feeling. It's in owning the pain. It's in saying "Yeah, I'm hurting. I love him, and I'm grieving because I have lost something dear to me, and I feel weak right now" and being truly okay with it. My strength is not in being super-human, it's in being hyper-human. It's in being okay with being curled up sobbing, because it is a lot harder to accept who you are being, than it is who you are trying to be. I can cry in the shower this morning and every other morning, but I am alive. I am contributing. I am growing in the face of sadness. I am carrying on, even though I am wounded. My strength is not in denying my pain and suffering - and it is certainly not in feeling above it - it is in allowing it to change me. Allowing this process to be transformative. </div>
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Love - love in what I believe is it's purest form - is about letting go of ones preconceived notions of self and letting in another human being. Denying that just because you lost it, is denying what that love was in the first place. And it was beautiful. Really beautiful.</div>
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My strength? It's in being grateful even with the misery. It's about letting go and nurturing the pain so that one day it can become something different. Otherwise, you're just allowing it to live inside of you forever, not giving it permission to be and to change. Not giving yourself permission to be and to change. </div>
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Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go have a good cry and then fall asleep smiling. </div>
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Nicole Rae Lipperthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750131568922559115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-748817579702410436.post-36985610630495983192010-02-25T10:57:00.000-08:002013-10-27T17:05:07.327-07:00Feeling Pretty Good<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I've had what I've now accepted as a cold for the last few days. I had no idea what it was, because the sinus issues acompanying it have been so bad it's been confusing me (I hardly ever have sinus issues, even when I get sick). Not to mention I feel okay, no fatigue or anything, my head is just conjested and my throat a little sore.<br /><br />I came into work anyway, which I got scolded for. My boss conceeded to let me stay as long as I didn't get anyone else sick - a promise I can surely keep. I got to work just in time to teach the porition of the "New Patient Orientation Class" that I usually do, which is overdose prevention.<br /><br />"Have you ever seen an overdose?"<br /><br />"What does it look like?"<br /><br />"Why do people overdose?"<br /><br />"What are some common myths about bringing someone out of an overdose?"<br /><br />"How to bring someone out of an overdose."<br /><br />There is always one person in these classes that feels the need to make it very clear that they are experienced in these things, have been using for years, and they know what I'm talking about and then some. I respectfully shut these people down pretty quickly (especially when they're being condescending to other patients), but they make teaching very difficult. Funny thing is though, there's one of those people in any class room setting. The 8th grader who knows more than their teacher, the snooty college student who took one philosophy class so they clearly know Marx better than anyone else does, etc.<br /><br />This is one of my favorite parts of the week regardless, and as I was walking out of the class room today the woman who knew so much more than I did said, "Thank you so much for coming in even when you don't feel well." <br /><br />"Well honestly," I said, "I hate missing work. When I get sick it's not like, 'Well, at least I get to miss work today!' because I really would rather be here. I love my job and I love meeting you guys," and the funny thing was I realized I really meant it, and how novel that is.<br /><br />"God bless you," she said.<br /><br />"Take care," I replied.</span><br />
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Nicole Rae Lipperthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750131568922559115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-748817579702410436.post-26291417119656553232010-01-28T15:03:00.000-08:002010-01-28T15:14:28.201-08:00While many admirable people have died in recent years, this was actually the first one that has moved tears to my eyes.<br /><br />If someone were to ask me about people who have inspired me, Howard Zinn would have been within the top three. Some people are destined for greatness and adversity. The John Lennon's and Martin Luther King Jr.'s of the past are people who seemed fated to be leaders - for better or for worse. It's not to say that fact takes away from their greatness or their accomplishments, at all. It's more to say, that Howard Zinn was the type of person that made me believe anyone can be great, and that destiny has nothing to do with it.<br /><br />Howard Zinn was not a leader, but his work was followed and criticized by colleges and fans alike. Howard Zinn was a man who taught at an african american all-girls-school during segregation. Who taught history at many universities and was fired for "insubordination". A man who was arrested time and again for civil disobedience, in attempts to preach peace based on history and reason. A man who "retired" on the picket lines with his students, and continued on to keep speaking out. To speak out against the indoctrination of our minds with war rhetoric and the belief that we are inherently destructive and weak as a people. A man who refused to give up on a country by us and for us, even when only few would listen.<br /><br />Howard Zinn lived a long and fruitful life, yet I still grieve. For a world without people like Howard Zinn is a much quieter one - a world where we're only getting closer to going out with a whimper.Nicole Rae Lipperthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750131568922559115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-748817579702410436.post-78082764070337322010-01-16T15:10:00.000-08:002013-10-27T17:10:21.192-07:00Magic Does ExistMost mornings I wake up and I think, “it’d be really nice if I had this thing.” I don’t usually buy this thing, let alone does it randomly show up on my doorstep.<br />
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With my current, “could I be a non-fiction writer?” fantasy/pursuit underway I’ve been really jonesing for the anthology Ira Glass just put out The New Kings of Non-Fiction; This American Life, and reading interviews with Ira Glass obsessively for days on end, is really what made me realize that non-fiction was what I write, am good at writing, and is even an up-and-coming creative market right now. It only seemed right that this book be in my possession. <br />
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This morning, as I talked at Matt about what I should be doing right now to pursue these writerly dreams of mine I said, “You know what I really want? That book Ira Glass published recently.” Honestly, I haven’t mentioned this book since I found out about it a month or so ago, so this wasn’t something I’ve been talking about every day or anything.<br />
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Our day was lovely, if not similar to most days. After breakfast we did some light “yoga” in the morning (okay, so by yoga, I really mean stretches similar to what we did in gym class). We went to Best Buy to exchange some games my mom bought me for games I really want (namely, the new Super Mario Brothers.Wii game, which looks even crazier and all over the place than it’s predecessors). Then we came home to make some gourmet veggie dogs for lunch.<br />
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As we walked in, Matt suggested I go check the mail. Bills, bills, a credit card offer, and a bulk envelope from This American Life in Chicago … <br />
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I opened it, and it was the exact book I wanted plus an illustrated comic on “how to produce your own radio show.” I looked for an invoice, or a packing slip. Nothing. I stood there, looking at it in smiling awe, held it up and said, “Matt, look …” <br />
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He looked at it as baffled as I was. “How did this happen?” he asked, “Did you enter a contest of any sort?” <br />
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“No!” I exclaimed excitedly, realizing what was happening, “It’s magic, that’s all there is to it. Either that, or my mom got it for me. I did tell her I wanted it, but she sounded very put off that she had to go to a website that wasn’t Amazon to buy it.” <br />
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“It must have been your Mom.” <br />
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“Yeah," I said, "It must have.” <br />
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I called my mom, and left a message, by then convinced that it was she and we sat down to lunch. Just as we sat down, of course, my mom called back. She informed me that, she doesn’t like her new camera because everyone looks good in the pictures except her, and oh no, she didn’t buy me that book. <br />
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Okay, okay, magic isn’t real there is a logical explanation for this. Matt and I checked my bank and credit card statements, maybe I sleep/drunk bought it. Nothing. I checked my email. Maybe I won some contest I didn’t know about, and the email ended up in my junk folder. Nothing. <br />
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I’ve decided this is a sign, a magical sign that I must pursue this writing thing. Maybe it’s not a super natural sign; maybe it’s a sign from a shipping clerk that screwed up and went into the “people who have made contributions” list on the computer instead of the “people who bought things from us” list. Whatever this is, the world we live in rarely feels magical when you’re this sober and I’m taking what I can get.Nicole Rae Lipperthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750131568922559115noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-748817579702410436.post-84206142680891149492009-12-20T18:32:00.000-08:002013-10-27T17:11:13.127-07:00(Im)PerfectionWhy do people make art? <br />
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Not too long ago, I felt like I could have answered that question, but over the last few years the feelings of being an "artist" have eluded me. I still would talk, here and there, about wanting to get back into "this" or start to get into "that", but the ugly truth is that I haven't known why. Like anyone who stays in a relationship long after it should have ended, I suspected it was because I didn't want to admit that passion had left me.<br />
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This evening, however, while methodically arranging my bookshelf, emotion hit me in the same way a cold wind will bite at your insides: I had become content. I was no longer restless, and so I lost what every artist posses: the entirely unattainable drive for perfection. Not the drive to make everything around you perfect, no good artist sees perfection in the world. They see beauty and pain in the imperfection all around them, and have the insatiable urge to express that imperfection as perfectly as they can - in a way that will make people feel engulfed in familiarity and fantasy all at once. <br />
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I no longer want to be merely satisfied by my life, there is always something lying underneath the surface, and I intend to uncover it, the way no one else can.Nicole Rae Lipperthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750131568922559115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-748817579702410436.post-39762418933963656472009-12-07T13:55:00.000-08:002009-12-07T16:08:52.734-08:0010,000 words ain't nothin' to be ashamed of ...At least that's what I keep telling myself. I did not finish NaNoWriMo (a fact that I'm sure none of you are shocked by) but I'm surprisingly okay with it. I stopped because my main protagonist had the likeness of a woman, but she had no past, and therefore, no story. I realized if I wanted to write this novel (which is a character heavy novel), I have to write some background on her. I don't know why she does the things she does, and that's kind of making her feel like a character from a sitcom.<br /><br />I think the reason I'm okay with this, is because it got me writing again, and that's the point of NaNoWriMo. 10,000 words is more than I have ever written on one project that wasn't intended for scholastic purposes. Far more in fact, and that's really the whole point of NaNoWriMo, to get people writing fearlessly. I am dead set on finishing this novel. It will probably be a short novel, and it's a baby step in terms of creative fiction on my behalf, but it will happen. I've put too much thought and energy into it to never see it happen. Also, I will be participating again, and hopefully around the same time next year you will see not just a "2010 NaNoWriMo Particpant" badge, but a "winner!" badge as well.<br /><br />Additionally, I re-realized I my love of poetry. There's no future in poetry, except to become a teacher, and teach other students with no monetary future in the craft how to write it, and then they will teach the next generation, and so on and so forth ... but I love doing it. I also find I hate most contemporary poetry, which is kind of okay, because I think there are poets who follow in the more traditional styles and still convey a modern voice.<br /><br />Back to fiction ...<br /><br />I was thinking for a while that I don't want to write anymore fiction after this current project. My best prose is when I'm just writing blog like things, and while there is a market for that, I like the idea of challenging myself to find a story within all of the emototing and thoughtful phrase turning I do, which will be part of the challenge in writing <span style="font-style:italic;">Grasp</span> (the tittle of Sonya's story).Nicole Rae Lipperthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750131568922559115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-748817579702410436.post-26937066013544123982009-12-03T23:18:00.000-08:002013-10-27T17:11:59.062-07:00Giving BirthA tight feeling constricted my chest as I sat quietly reading. I have this feeling often, a feeling of emptiness and anticipation. The space between my ribs becomes starved for undiscriminating abandonment of all responsibility – I never give in.<br />
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I always wonder if I did, what would happen? In these moments, I don’t have any particular desire, except I know that art is an adventure that I have yet to embark upon. Would this emotion look like paint splattered carelessly across a canvass, or the words on this page being fleshed out into the form of something more? Something with life, something that people would read and they would feel the breath of literature on their necks; sparking their insides and becoming aware of the emptiness that too lay in their chests.<br />
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As I write these words I know there is a character waiting to be nurtured, and a poem waiting to be unbound and woven back together in tighter, richer patterns. These are children born of my mind, and I deny myself as I deny them.<br />
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They say art is a labor of love, and not unlike raising a child you raise your artwork up. You give life to it, and as it grows you grow with it, putting more stake in it’s future with every caress and extension of your being. Like children, denying their growth is to deny yourself, and leave the space between your ribs tense and hallow for all time.Nicole Rae Lipperthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750131568922559115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-748817579702410436.post-53142998998866693212009-11-14T19:36:00.000-08:002009-11-14T20:05:46.982-08:00The Lone WriterWell, Matt left Wednesday morning, and since then I've written aprox. 3,000 words, leaving me far more than half way behind my word count. Matt and I thought this time away from each other would be great time to focus on our novels, but it seems for me I need another writer around to inspire me to write.<br /><br />A couple of people have asked me what my novel is about, and I have divulged to them the plot (which isn't incredibly interesting) and gotten asked more than once, "is the main character you?" <br /><br />"No," I always explain, "she's not me at all, she just happens to have a few experiences in common with me for the sole purpose of me being able to write about them well."<br /><br />This is true, or at least it was when I started the novel. As my writing goes on, I'm starting to not be able to write because I'm realizing I have no idea how this character thinks. I mean REALLY how she thinks. I know how she acts, that was vaguely outlined when I first had the idea, but she has no voice of her own. Sonya (my main character) is a mere shadow of a human being right now, and while she has revealed a little about herself to me as I write, she hasn't revealed enough and I know I need to make some decisions for this writing process to continue.<br /><br />Oy, my words wreak of "amateur writer", but that's what I am right?<br /><br />Also, Audrey Neffenegger has a new book out, <span style="font-style: italic;">Her Fearful Symmetry, </span>which I couldn't help but buy even though it's not in paperback yet ... (I love you Matt, don't be mad!)<br /><br /> Well, back to the writing grind. Wish Sonya and me luck!Nicole Rae Lipperthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750131568922559115noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-748817579702410436.post-1630685953107652152009-11-03T23:52:00.000-08:002009-11-04T15:24:49.667-08:00One word after another after another ...Okay, first to credit my ever encouraging and under appreciated boyfriend Matt-Josh, he said this to me many times before I went on my digital inspiration journey: JUST-KEEP-WRITING.<br /><br />Last night I only pumped out a couple hundred words because I kept changing little tiny words and phrases so as never to complete more than a page. I sat down to write tonight, and I found myself researching everything I wanted to write about. The mention of a city, a color, the anatomical make up of a strand of hair (okay, that last one is an embellishment). Finally desperate from my own self inflicted sabotage, I went to NaNoWriMo for some inspiration.<br /><br />I read through all of the pep-talks by published authors, and of a collective 17 respected authors, only two really did it for me. They came down to three simple facts:<br /><br />1) Writing is the hard part of being a writer. The plots, the metaphors, the shimmering, cleverly flawed characters laying in wait - those are icing yet to be spread with out the messy toiling of a first draft.<br /><br />2) At more than one point I will hate every single word I write and try and convince myself to do anything but write, as every writer has done this with every book they have ever written.<br /><br />3) Writing is a journey. You start with a few basic ideas and then it takes on a life of it's own as long as you let it and don't get bogged down by the "rules of trade".<br /><br />Now, without further butchering of good advice by neophyte like myself, writing pep-talks by Neil Gaiman and Tom Robbins:<br /><br />http://www.nanowrimo.org/node/1065561<br /><br />http://www.nanowrimo.org/node/1052008Nicole Rae Lipperthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750131568922559115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-748817579702410436.post-69302476644056239372009-11-01T01:08:00.000-07:002009-11-01T01:30:35.814-07:00Happy NaNoWriMo!Most of the last 24 hours has been Halloween, which Matt and I celebrated'ish. Matt ordered 25 fair trade chocolates (we only gave out 22 though, in part to end of the night laziness, and in part to a sweet our monstrous sweet teeth). They came with little cards about fair trade, organically grown chocolate alternatives and little patches of that tacky glue stuff often used in cheap packaging, which we pressed onto the cards. It's called reverse trick-or-treating. We got asked a couple of times what we wanted once we handed them the chocolate and said our little spiel, and got genuine surprise when we said, "nothing." We were offered non-fair-trade chocolates many times, which not long into our roll reversal adventure, we gave in and accepted graciously. We also ran into my co-worker, Bekha, which was awkward because work is kind of shaky right now. A story for hopefully never again because I'd really like to just get on with my day to day life, and never relive this past week.<br /><br />More importantly though the last hour has been the start of NaNoWriMo! Matt and I went to Frontier, a local, cheap, New Mexican food place where the first NaNo write-in began promptly at midnight. We got there a little later, and there were easily 15 people there, most in Halloween costumes, all typing away furiously. I'm really quite sad we didn't bring our good camera (the one that kind people at cost-co so graciously let us take out on loan for $1,000, which we'll bring back within 90 days and get our money back) so we could get a picture of just how amazing of a scene that was. <br /><br />I've written approximately 750 words so far (goal for the end of November 1st being approx 1600), and I'm not even sure I'm going to stick with this story line.<br /><br />Wish me fruitful noveling!Nicole Rae Lipperthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750131568922559115noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-748817579702410436.post-38250253733045774402009-10-22T16:12:00.000-07:002013-10-27T17:13:21.153-07:00Confessions of the Hermit WithinThere is something absolutely inspiring about being alone.<br />
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I don't mean alone in the romantic sense, or people simply being around you, I mean being solitary. Sitting in a cafe' or a park watching passers by (the obviously newly in love couple, the teenagers who think they're older than they really are, the hoards of people walking by talking obliviously on their cell phones who make you wonder, "do I really look like that?"). I can't spend every waking moment with other people, something inside me starts to slowly die and at some point I begin wonder if I'm just a shell of the person I thought I was, or if this is the person I've become?<br />
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Tonight is very important, I'm spending the night alone in my house for the first time in a long while. For anyone who hasn't discovered it, your home is a very magical place to be alone. When I'm in a place with people constantly, every footstep, every banging of a dish in the sink resonates throughout my mind. When I'm alone, the house comes alive. The constant buzzing of the heater, the squirrels scampering on the roof, the occasional creek of the gate. They all become part of what feels like one, holistic, vibration which I've become a part of with every page I flip in my book or bubble boiling on the stove.<br />
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Let's be clear here, tonight I will be sad when I crawl into bed and Matt isn't there to wrap his arms around me until I feel sufficiently cuddled, in the morning I will miss the sounds of him singing (which he does no matter how bad of a mood he's in), and at some point tonight I will think of something very silly and be disappointed when he's not here to do something silly back ... but this isn't about that. This is about a state of consciousness, one only achieved when you stop for a moment, and in your stillness you know that even though you've stopped, the world isn't passing you by, you're just catching a glimpse of it.Nicole Rae Lipperthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750131568922559115noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-748817579702410436.post-67279652264230827212009-10-11T12:48:00.000-07:002009-10-11T12:58:11.826-07:00NaNoWriMo!<span style="font-family: times new roman;">Well then, I signed up on a site to write a novel from start to finish in the month of November. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">The actual winning process works like this: </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">From 12:00:01 AM, local time, November 25 until 11:59:59 PM, local time, on November 30, all participants who have written more than 50,000 words can have their winning word counts verified by our site. Uploading your novel to the Word Count Validator makes your NaNoWriMo victory official, gets you listed on our Winners Page, and routes you to the secret spot where you can collect this year's winner's certificate. It will also turn your word count bar purple.</span><br /><br />Since I can't start writing any prose for the actual novel until the month of November, and I can't seem to write an outline to save my life, I've decided to write bits of prose spontaneously on this page to encourage myself to write more, and the first bit I write on November 1st will be the start of my novel.<br /><br />Creative prose soon to come ...Nicole Rae Lipperthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14750131568922559115noreply@blogger.com2